


Princeton Pleasures

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [104]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-15
Updated: 2007-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The H.M.S. Pinafore sails into Princeton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princeton Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting  
> My former betas: Alex and Ula
> 
> References:  
> [The play at The McCarter Theater](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H.M.S._Pinafore)  
> [Dandelion Wine](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dandelion_Wine) helps Quinn cool his ardor, and deflect Ian's, in [A Paduan New Year's Eve](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1752725), from 2003.

Blossoms breezed by their faces as Ian and Quinn strode up the Princeton tow path. When they'd last hiked here, during the Charioteer symposium in February, stick-bare trees had revealed Carnegie Lake from a mile away. Now, blossoms were everywhere, a springtime snow shower dusting the trail.  
  
Teased by the June breeze, a wayward blossom alighted precariously on the bridge of Ian's nose. Brushing it away with a fingertip, Quinn leaned in to kiss the spot.  
  
"Couldn't have picked a tastier place to land," Quinn rumbled.  
  
"Mmm-hmm," Ian agreed, then added mischievously, "At least in public." He pulled his husband down for a kiss of his own to the alluring bump on Quinn's nose. "But your bump would've made a better platform," he teased, loving the gentle laugh it evoked.  
  
They lingered in each other's arms for a moment, then continued walking up the path hand in hand.  
  
When they had come for the meet between the Skyhawks and Tigers in April, they'd picked up tickets for The McCarter Theater's presentation of H.M.S. Pinafore. And they had a date that night to see it.  
  
After their turn onto Washington Road, they headed for Nassau Street and the Thomas Sweet ice cream shop for a much-needed cool-down. Quinn ordered an oreos and cream with crushed walnuts, Ian a mint chocolate chip blend-in with York pieces.  
  
They sat under a ceiling fan, basking in the internal air conditioning of ice cream after the heat outside.  
  
"Delicious!" said Quinn after a heaping spoonful. "They have new flavors since we were here last. Gotta try them all."  
  
Knowing an invitation when he heard one, Ian dipped his spoon into Quinn's cup, a tradition he'd started on their very first date. "Mmmm. I'll have to get this next time."  
  
Quinn tried some of Ian's. "Can't decide which I like better, lad."  
  
"Have some more," Ian urged, loving the sight of his husband poaching nonchalantly from his cup in public.  
  
Quinn winked, his effortless understanding of his lad delighting him as always.  
  
When they finished, they ambled up to Hawthorne Place, where a charming little bed and breakfast awaited them. The Taunton Inn had been built in 1788 as a private home, then opened as a hotel in the 1930s. Its cheery blue exterior, with forest green doors and shutters, welcomed them in, just as The Wayfarers' Inn had.  
  
Their room was on the first floor, and looked out over the gardens. It had a private bathroom, something of a luxury for a B&B, particularly one of the Taunton's age. Another luxury, especially after a two-hour hike, was the window air conditioner, which Ian flicked on as they entered.  
  
Quinn threw Ian an Evian bottle and took one of his own. They settled on the sofa in front of the highboy with its hidden TV. Kicking off their sneakers, they put their feet up on the ottoman and sprawled.  
  
"Love visiting Princeton." Quinn grinned over at Ian.  
  
"Yeah. No place better for a working vacation, and our Charioteer papers did wonders for our vitae." Ian took a sip of his Evian.  
  
"At just the right time for your tenure review board."  
  
"You could say Ralph Lanyon gave me tenure. Is there anything the man can't do?"  
  
Quinn chuckled. "Well, he'd better not try this, laddie," he said as he leaned over to kiss Ian, sweat and water sealing their lips together nicely.  
  
Ian sighed happily. "No, you've got that covered, love." He instinctively moved to rest his head under Quinn's arm, but the ripe smell made him think better of it.  
  
Quinn yawned. "Too tired for a shower, lad." And he proved it with his first snore.  
  
Ian grinned and decided to take advantage of the free bathroom. The shower was too small for them both, in any case, converted as it was from a closet. They were lucky enough to have one at all, and Ian well knew it.  
  
He peeled off his clothes and got under the spray, already missing the heft of his husband at his side. Just thinking of Quinn made him a bit hard, but he wanted to be able to play soon so he concentrated on cleaning, and resolutely pushed away all thoughts of heavy hands roaming over him.  
  
When he got out, Quinn was still sleeping, so Ian curled up in bed with a copy of Ray Bradbury's Farewell Summer, the sequel to Dandelion Wine. Bradbury was one of Ian's favorite writers; he'd love to teach a course on him, just as Quinn had his Tolkien seminar to dream about.  
  
When Quinn had picked up his grass-stained copy of Dandelion Wine in Padua, it had seemed inevitable that they shared this meditation on childhood. In fact, it had been that very book which had distracted Ian from seducing Quinn on a long-ago New Year's Eve.  
  
A few pages later, the snuffling sound from the couch told Ian his husband was stirring. "Hey there, sleepyhead."  
  
Blue eyes crinkled open. "Hey, yourself." Quinn stretched his arms out, wingspan wider than the sofa. "Whatcha reading?"  
  
Ian held up the book, delighted when Quinn's crinkles deepened. "Feels like I'm in grade school again, hanging out with Douglas in Green Town."  
  
"He's an old friend of ours." Quinn smiled crookedly. "I'll never forget visiting your Paduan bedroom for the first time. I felt right at home. And when I found Dandelion Wine on your shelf, it seemed like we'd shared his adventures as boys."  
  
Ian's eyes were shining. "Just like we've shared our own for years now." Ian sighed happily. "Y'know, I wanted to make love with you, right there on my childhood bed."  
  
Quinn smiled. "Course I knew. Why'd y'think I was at the desk when you came back from the john?"  
  
"So diplomatic, even in matters of the heart." Ian chuckled. "It would've been a disaster. Remember, that's the night my mom walked in on us by the fire."  
  
Quinn shivered, despite his sweatiness. "Don't wanna imagine the look on her face if she'd caught us in bed together."  
  
Ian groaned. "No need to come out then. They'd probably have heard her in the next state."  
  
Quinn nodded ruefully as he scratched the back of his neck. "Need a shower."  
  
"It's yours. I've taken mine already." Ian started reading again. Until...  
  
Quinn stripped off his heather-grey t-shirt in a long, slow tease. He smiled as Ian's eyes snapped up when he heard the inviting rustle of fabric. His shorts took even longer to slide down his endless legs.  
  
"Back in a few, laddie," Quinn said, knowing by the gleam in his husband's eyes that he'd soon need another shower.  
  
If the stall hadn't been so cramped, Ian would have seriously considered joining him. As it was, he counted the drops until his husband came out.  
  
And was rewarded with a breathtaking sight: Quinn in all his naked glory, seeming to fill the room between them.  
  
Quinn got into bed, a hint of moisture clinging to his skin just where Ian wanted to cling himself. His pillow already had a wet spot under his hair, a taste of things to come. Propping himself on an elbow, he leaned over Ian. Luckily, his lad wore only boxer briefs, which he pawed off desultorily.  
  
Quinn rested one big hand on Ian's already taut stomach, the other batting the novel off the bed nonchalantly. "Y'can finish the book tomorrow, laddie."  
  
"What book?" asked Ian, mischievous grin firmly in place. He covered most of Quinn's hand with his own, and moved it downward, breath hitching more with every inch.  
  
Quinn put up just enough resistance to make Ian work for it, watching in fascination as a droplet of sweat or water inched down Ian's hair in tandem with their hands. He couldn't resist licking the drop, which yielded its secrets when he tasted a hint of herbal shampoo.  
  
When their hands finally reached their destination, Ian gave out a staccato yelp, quickly swallowed by Quinn's kisses.  
  
Quinn let himself be guided by Ian's fingers pushing down on his hand, trying to give his lad the exact pressure he craved. He knew he was succeeding when Ian's groans increased in volume.  
  
Quinn stroked in earnest now, knowing it was past time for teasing. Ian's hips seemed to defy gravity as they flew off the bed, until Quinn's other hand shot out to press them down.  
  
"Uunnhh!" Ian poured his soul into the cry as he came, and Quinn responded with a kiss that surrendered his own.  
  
Quinn was glad they were in an old house; the walls were thick for better soundproofing.  
  
As soon as he could move again, Ian crawled under Quinn's wing and stayed there for a cuddle. When a fingertip brushed his husband's erection, wet from his own orgasm and Quinn's pre-come, he was ready for round two. "What's your pleasure?" he asked in a languid purr.  
  
"Your mouth," Quinn whispered into his hair.  
  
Ian followed the same trajectory as Quinn had earlier, but with his lips instead of his hand. He couldn't resist going for the sensitive spot on Quinn's right hip, and lapped at it until he felt a very impatient nudge against his cheek by a neglected shaft.  
  
Ian gave in to the needy organ, licking it as he'd wanted to lick his spoon earlier, Quinn seeming just as hard under his tongue. He reached the tip, and finally tasted the sauce his ice cream had been missing. "Mmmm!" he said after a greedy slurp. Luckily for him, the more he probed for it, the more he got. And Quinn was even more delicious than his earlier snack.  
  
Ian held on for dear life as Quinn began to buck like a bronco out of the gate. He suckled as much as he could, knowing Quinn craved the heat and wetness of his mouth.  
  
Quinn cried out in abandon as he flooded Ian's mouth, falling back to the bed with a thump.  
  
They both forgot Gilbert and Sullivan existed.  
  
  
Quinn was reminded that evening when they had to get up for showers and dinner in time for the 8 o'clock show. He suggested Marita's Cantina on Nassau Street, and they arrived a bit after 6. They were soon adrift in a sea of festive, colorful diners, with swells of chatter and cool waves of jazz punctuating their conversation.  
  
Black bean soup started their meal off right.  
  
Ian smiled after his first spoonful. "Glad they added sherry. Tastes better this way."  
  
Quinn nodded. "And they even put in enough chives for me." He tucked in contentedly. "I'm looking forward to seeing Pinafore again."  
  
Ian smiled indulgently. "Me, too. My dad and I have always been fans. He's seen the D'Oyly Carte productions of Pirates of Penzance and Iolanthe."  
  
Quinn chuckled. "Lucky man. I've just memorized most of the librettos."  
  
"So've I. My favorite from Pinafore has to be When I Was a Lad." At Quinn's wink, Ian's voice lowered. "Of course, I'll always be your lad."  
  
Quinn's eyes darkened with pleasure. "And that makes me the luckiest guy in the galaxy."  
  
Ian's smile was luminous. "And that makes two of us." He took a sip of water. "So what's your favorite song?"  
  
"I'm partial to Modern Major-General."  
  
It was Ian's turn to wink. "No comments here about how that relates to your personality."  
  
Luckily for Ian, the waitress brought their entrees just then. Arroz con pollo distracted them nicely for the next little while.  
  
Quinn ran restless fingers over the nubs of his linen napkin. "Y'know, I was thinking of renewing the family's subscriptions to The Luke Playhouse."  
  
They had let them lapse last year, in the midst of Quinn's estrangement from the Mastersons.  
  
Ian looked up with cautious hope. "You mean you want to go with both sets of parents?"  
  
Quinn nodded. "Maybe it's just a pipe dream, but I'd like us all to be friends again. My folks are still...my folks, but they've been trying. Do you think they're ready?"  
  
Ian didn't answer right away. "In some ways, they'll never be ready, but I think we should chance it. We could always let their subscription lapse if it's too much for them."  
  
Quinn glanced at his watch. "Looks like there's no time for dessert, lad."  
  
Ian gave him a private smile. "We'll make up for it later."  
  
Quinn settled the bill, and they set off for The McCarter Theater.  
  
A late-spring night in Princeton was a wonderful thing, and they savored its coolness. The air-conditioned theater was even cooler, and they were glad of their dinner jackets. They headed for Row 12 of the orchestra, and had to inch by other patrons to reach their seats.  
  
The clang and beat of instruments warming up added to their anticipation. The lights dimmed, and they drifted off to a comedy of sailors. The costumes, sets, and singing were all beautiful, and the convoluted plot drew them in with its naughty nautical humor.  
  
Early in the second act, Quinn glanced over at Ian and realized how lucky he was to have his lad by his side. The last time he had seen this play, he'd been with his parents. He squeezed Ian's fingers, and got a satisfying squeeze back.  
  
After several curtain calls, they walked back to the inn, with Ian taking Quinn's hand as they neared Hawthorne Place.  
  
"Little Buttercup stole the show," Ian said fondly.  
  
"She has a wonderful voice," Quinn said. "The captain was a stand-out, too."  
  
Ian nodded. "Now I have a yen to see The Mikado."  
  
Quinn chuckled. "Ah, laddie. Y've never been one to resist a pun."  
  
"Well, some things in life are irresistible." Ian squeezed his husband's hand for emphasis.  
  
  
Back at their room, the first thing they did was strip down to their boxer briefs. Cool sheets awaited them, where Quinn read a bit of Farewell Summer, while Ian checked his e-mail. Quinn looked up from the book when he heard Ian's sigh.  
  
"Derek's dropped out of the program."  
  
"Glad to hear it." Quinn's tone was as hard as Ian ever heard it.  
  
Ian drummed on the laptop casing. "Don't know what I could've done differently."  
  
Quinn could hear the resignation in his lad's voice as he took him in his arms. He clearly felt he'd failed a student. "Nothing, laddie. Nothing."  
  
The utter conviction in his husband's voice soothed Ian considerably. "He's missing the opportunity of a lifetime. He could've won a medal on the rings."  
  
"Can he transfer?" Quinn's fingertips drew a tracery of love up Ian's right arm.  
  
Ian smiled at the caresses despite himself. "He's on academic scholarship. Hard to walk away from that."  
  
Quinn kissed the crease between Ian's brows. "It's a sorry situation."  
  
"Maybe I should talk to Otto about it. Derek doesn't have to train with me."  
  
"Not a good precedent to set. And Vedder will learn nothing, then. He'll be the same narrow-minded kid when he graduates. Not a pretty picture." Quinn's frustration mounted with each word.  
  
"Don't know what to do yet. At least I have the summer to think it over."  
  
"And we've got better things to think about now."  
  
"Yeah, like my meeting with Otto Monday mornin'." A small grin graced Ian's face.  
  
Glad to see him smile, Quinn didn't bother to answer, kissing Ian deeply instead. He knew the conversation was over when Ian pulled him on top of him and started their own private gymnastics session.  
  
The Princeton night cocooned around them.


End file.
